Becoming An Angel
by Glimare
Summary: "Hey Kratos! How exactly did you, a human, become an angel?" Lloyd's question stirred memories the man did his best to block out, but they came anyway. He looked away from his son and to the ground, mourning the man he once was. Slightly OOC, pregame, T for torture


**Disclaimer:** I so can't own this. I can't even program a GIF, let alone all the awesome that happens in this world. Tales of Symphonia is too awesome to be mine.

now I was thinking about how Kratos is an 'angel', but he was originally human. I read somewhere that their 'angels' happened because they had cruxis crystals in some drink or something. I'm really hazy on the details, but I wanted to write a story describing the process in which Kratos became an 'angel'. this is how. I'm still writing this so progress will be slower than I like. Plus I have a lot of other fics I need to do and school and work. Still, so long as I play the game, I'm going to be writing this and a few others. Enjoy the angst, drama, and the process in which Kratos changes forever.

Picture belongs to Fushi-Chou of Deviantart. I cropped and added the words. enjoy!

* * *

_**Becoming an Angel**_

1

The guards still had the hemp sack over his head as he regained consciousness. One was on either side of him, dragging his limp form to whatever torture chamber they were planning for him. He had to get out of there, but until he could identify where he was, any attempt would be futile. Thankfully he knew most of the dungeons and bases around the country, so escape was a high possibility. For now though, he had to remain limp and figure things out.

His feet were bare, getting scraped up by the rough floor beneath him. Rough and dirty. Not an official base but some kind of cave-like dungeon. That was one of three places he knew of. The hallway smelled like human refuse, and that was after he got past the bag's rotten tomato smell. Refuse, blood, dirt, and stagnant water. And the tomatoes. His stomach was ready to revolt at a moment's notice.

The clues led him to believe it was one location, meant for the most dangerous criminals in all of Tethe'alla. But the lighting didn't fit. When he deposited Dorr the Axman there, magitechnology run lights were constant on the walls. Through the bag, he could see the flickering of flames, dimming and growing as they strode past. That meant a dwarf settlement, right?

Curiosity led to confusion, which now became dread. He had no idea where he was.

'_Keep calm,_' he mentally told himself, forcing his body to stay limp and let himself be dragged through those halls. He had to remember turns, stairs, how many torches they passed, and how many others they passed on their way to wherever he was going. Someone scuffed his boots behind him so there was at least one guard taking up the rear. There was likely one in front of him too. Guards on all sides, going to an unknown underground location in chains with a sack over his head; should he feel flattered they considered him a dangerous criminal?

The heavy weights on his hands and feet clinked quietly, and his clothes were not his own. They had him unconscious a long time, long enough to disarm and redress him in prison attire before he woke in a place he didn't know about. His wounds smarted from the fight he had before and he mentally chided himself for thinking he would go unrecognized in that village long enough to get supplies. He didn't want to hurt any civilians in his fight and ended up getting cornered with no other option but surrender. This is what surrender got him.

Counting and remembering every direction as they went, the man was almost happy when they finally came to a stop at some door. His foot had at least one new cut and his arms were horribly sore from the way he was held. Whoever was in front knocked three times on a metal door before it was opened. The feeling of the floor changed from a rough surface to a smooth one as he passed the threshold. Smooth and slanted, most likely leading to a drain.

'_Great. They're going to bleed me out._' Death grips on his biceps changed and loosened after a minute or two before he was thrown to the floor. Thrown, not dropped. Whatever these guards were told about him must have really upset them. He'd never let his subordinates treat prisoners as anything less than human. Someone took the chain to his handcuffs and linked them to some loop in the ground, securing him to one spot. Another yanked his collar sharply, forcing him back on his knees. His ankle chains were too secured to the floor, satisfying someone's paranoia.

It was only when he heard the steel door's lock snap into place that the horrible smelling sack was finally removed from his head. Automatically he flinched from the sudden outpouring of light, blinked a few times, and started glaring at the nearest guard, the one holding the sack. "About time. It was getting hard to breathe."

"I'm afraid it's only going to get much harder, Mr. Aurion."

Brown eyes jerked towards the voice, glaring beyond his dull red hair masking half his face. Years of swordplay and training gave him a body most wished for, and experience gave him scars no one wanted. The prisoner rags he was forced into kept him mildly warm and covered, but were still loose and smelled horribly. If he weren't a prisoner right then, any maiden in the room would be watching him with interest. As it was, the only ones interested in him was the oily man who spoke to him.

"Or do you prefer Kratos? The traitor." Oily only began to describe the man in front of him. Older than him, probably in his late thirties, and had a look of snide superiority on his features. Silver streaked black hair greased back and a prim uniform, he valued looking his best rather than getting his hands dirty. Unless he took off his jacket and gloves, Kratos was certain his punishment would come from one of the six guards around them.

Really it was flattering how much they feared him with all this security. After all, "I'm not a traitor."

"That is not what the king says." The unknown general made a motion to one of his aides, a young lad in a valet uniform. The boy picked up a wineskin and slowly approached, watching both his boss and the prisoner cautiously. "He says this war is all your fault."

"The king is a fool who wouldn't listen to informants because they were half-elves!" The truth was rewarded with a swift metal kick to his back. Kratos' hands hit the ground to stabilize himself, flinching slightly but not making a sound. Instead he glared defiantly at the unknown man before him. "We were trying to stop it."

"So you say." He took the wineskin from his servant, then inclined his head towards the soldiers. The ones on either side of his prisoner stepped closer, ready to act. Kratos braced himself for the inevitable assault. The general seemed to have little interest in anything but the wineskin and a small glass vial he retrieved from his pocket. Its contents sparkled with a malicious air. "Personally, I don't care."

"What?" Indignant, the fallen soldier glared his outrage at the man. He didn't care? He didn't care that people were dying for pride's sake and for power no one could keep? He didn't care that mana was dying and their world would be ending soon if they didn't stop this endless war?

"War is good for my business," the man popped open the sack and poured he contents of the vial into it. The guards grabbed Kratos' shoulders, one of them forcing his head back as the man finally approached him, swirling the flask's contents cheerily. "That short peace time we had could have bankrupted me. Whether you started the war back up or not matters little to me.

"Oh, where are my manners? I forgot to offer you a drink. Here." The winesack's tip touched Kratos' lips, dripping on the young man's parched mouth. As tempting as the drink was, he was no fool. He kept his jaw clamped tightly shut and would not open it for anything, least of all poison or some truth serum.

"Stubborn I see." A dark light sparked in the man's cold eyes. His fingers glowed, starting from the stone on his glove, and brushed Kratos' throat. "Let's see if I can... persuade you."

If his stomach's wish to revolt wasn't bad enough, the touch of the man's hand on his person was. A spell no doubt made his throat throb, dryer now than a bone. His breathing became difficult, constricted. If he didn't open his mouth, he would die. Kratos endured the pain for as long as he could before the need to breathe became too strong and his mouth snapped open.

All he got was one gasp for breath before the sack was emptied into his body. Though his stomach longed to rebel, his throat eagerly took in every drop of the water flowing downwards and kept it inside. The cool refreshment was almost heaven sent, if he didn't know something was wrong with it. He didn't stop drinking until every drop as gone, and he hated himself for it.

"There." The general grinned at his opening eyes, removing the empty sack. "Isn't that better?"

"What did you give me?" Kratos hated mind games. He hated them when he was studying to be a soldier, and hated them among the court. The only time he won them was when he said nothing and let others believe what they wanted to.

"Oh, nothing too horrible I assure you." He took a step back and nodded to the guards. They released their holds and left him kneeling in the center of the room. "Nothing worse than what I've given others. Your designation from now on is CCA021. I will be watching you closely."

"Watching for what?!" His insides were starting to feel warm, and not in a good way. What had he done to him?

The man watched him in amusement before laughing to himself. "Oh my. You really don't know who I am do you? Your network is lacking CCA021."

"Answer the damn question!"

"Looks like you need a full orientation." The man bowed politely, cruel humor dripping from his every action. "I am Sir Puckerdink. Rupert Puckerdink. Scientist, entrepreneur, and the foremost expert on exspheres."

"Exspheres?" Kratos almost gaped at the man. He heard of exspheres of course. Martel and Mithos both had one in them, both with special key crests since Martel's horrible illness not long ago. Yuan was trying to find a dwarf who'd make key crests for the two of them so they could use some, but it was the last thing on Kratos' mind. He wanted to do everything he could on his own power, not because of a weird rock.

"The military, on all sides, is trying to get as many as they can in order to get an edge," Puckerdink explained. "So as you can see, I am in high demand."

"You're the traitor then." He glared venom at the man, wishing he could slice him down the middle. "A weapons trader without a conscience."

"What good is a conscience in this trade?" The man's smile sickened him more than he ever would admit. The heat inside him kept building. What did he give him? "That aside, there is something you should know. Emil." He looked over to the boy who jumped to do as he was told. "The stones."

Emil nodded and went over to where a well carved box sat. Without saying a word, the boy brought the box back, head bowed. With a gloved hand, the man opened the lid and showed its contents to his prisoner. Three stones sat next to each other: one blacker than night, another as blue as the sea, and the last red as a sunset. These were exspheres?

"These are my trade, procuring and fine tuning exspheres before selling them to the highest bidder. Tethe'alla is currently the best customer, but should things change, I will take Sylverant's as well. They come in three stages, though... I am perfecting a fourth." An amused smile fell on the prisoner as the man bragged about his trade.

He pointed at the black one first. "This is an exsphere in its natural state. Harmless, no powers. Easy to mine in quarries like this one."

'_Ah, so I'm in a quarry._' Kratos tucked that bit of information away as the man went on. That explained why he couldn't identify the place.

"Only when it is attached to a living host does it become anything of worth." He gestured to the stone in the middle, reveling in his prisoner's confusion.

"Living host?"

"We discovered their abilities over a hundred years ago, when a dog found one, ate it, and when it came back out, it was able to give the next holder enhanced skills. Since that incident, we have perfected the process." A cruel smile played on his lips, making Kratos blanch. "Digestion of a stone through an animal produces weak results. Implanting the stone into a cognitive, humanoid body yields much better results. Their emotions bring out the stone's powers much faster."

"You... you use human beings... to make weapons?!" Horror tried to fill him, but the heat from the drink was making it harder to breathe.

"Only the dregs of humanity, I assure you." His smile grew larger, things clicking in Kratos' brain.

"Half-elves."

"They produce the best stones, but only if they've been activated by a human host first. An experiment of mine resulted in this." Puckerdink pointed at his pride and joy, the red stone. "I call it the Cruxis Crystal. An old human awakens the stone, then a young half-elf matures it. The end result is a stone giving humans the ability to cast spells and summon. Unimaginable strength and endurance... This is my crowning glory."

A sly smile grew on the man's face as he looked back to Kratos. "At least for now it is. I am attempting a new experiment now, one I have high hopes for."

"What... what happens to... the people... you put... those things... on?" Damn! It was turning into a sauna in here! The Triet Desert was worse but... What was he poisoned with? "How... do you..."

"Usually we just place the inert stone on a person's flesh. The closer to the heart, the stronger it becomes. When the stone has matured..." A blood thirsty grin crossed his face. "Well, let's say it's better we kill them then take the stone."

"You bastard!" Kratos jerked forward, ready to hurt the man dearly, but the chains kept him there. His body didn't want to comply to his wishes. Why was Puckerdink insisting on telling him all of this? To make him angry? Well he succeeded. As soon as he was out of those chains, the man was dead. Then it hit him, and his world went spinning. "You... you put that stone in me!"

"Not exactly." With a single kick, the monster sent Kratos sprawling on the floor. Every muscle in his body was on fire! He wanted to vomit, wanted to run, wanted to do so much, but he couldn't move. So much pain... He almost didn't hear the creep talking to him.

"You see, we've perfected the exspheres and the cruxis crystals, but I really don't want to stop developing anything. I have a theory that if a human ingests a powdered form of a cruxis crystal, they will have all the powers of the crystal and then some. They will be stronger than giants, faster than elves, tougher than dwarves, and the magic of the spirits. They can defy everything we know about humanity.

"You are my twenty-first attempt to prove this theory." The words struck Kratos like a ton of bricks. Twenty-first? The menace loomed over him, taunting him with his every breath. "I have tried farmers, musicians, teachers, philosophers, children, elderly, men, women, even a nobleman and a priest, and they each resulted in failures. A couple of them managed to survive the process physically, but they are nothing more than super powered husks now. Dolls we are attempting to train to be killing machines.

"I think it's about time we tried using a soldier for my experiments." Puckerdink knelt down and gripped Kratos' hair, forcing him to look at the man. "You love half-elves so much, it's only fair you joined them. Welcome to Irkalla."

This monster thrust his captive's head back to the ground and strode away, mocking the man he poisoned with magical gem dust. His ears started to ring and his eyes fell out of focus as the heat within consumed his body. He couldn't move and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't cry out.

Chained to the floor, burning from the inside out, Kratos sensed more than saw his captors leave the room, letting him writhe in agony in this state. Even if the chains weren't there he couldn't attempt an escape. The name of the place was enough to confirm there was no way out.

He knew where he was now. A place he only heard about as a rumor from another guard. Irkalla was a place of evil, and he was being tortured in Hell because of someone else's stupidity. Pain consumed him, but he did not shout or cry in agony like others would. He would never give that devil the satisfaction of defeating Kratos Aurion, friend to half-elves and warrior of the highest mark. He would not be broken by a measly demonic rock.

* * *

A/N: those two are pretty chatty aren't they? This is a much younger Kratos than we're used to, far more naive, but he's still a tough guy to take on. My knowledge is still limited, so he's also like an older Lloyd without the idealism. Sorry if he's OCC. Puckerdink is a play on Humperdink namewise, and he's just as much of a jerk. An OC yes but I have a history of... well... being an OC in my fanfics is not always a good thing. He's supposed to be a lot like Kvar so the second story I have planned has a deeper impact on him and makes more sense.

Short of the matter is, Kratos didn't plan on living forever. Until next time! Please review. Might make things go faster on my end.


End file.
